


Present Past Imperfect: Epilogue v2

by tersa (alix)



Series: Dragon Age:Present Imperfect [3]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Awakening, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Implied Past Relationships, Porn, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after Anders destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry and Marian Hawke killed her lover, a stranger walks into Amaranthine asking for Nathaniel Howe.</p><p>Originally an alternate 'ending' to "Past Present Imperfect", this version is the timeline spawning sequels</p>
            </blockquote>





	Present Past Imperfect: Epilogue v2

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal in May 2011
> 
> Readers of both Epilogues will notice identical prose at the start of the piece; be assured the end diverges radically.

**Post Game**

A woman trudged wearily through the gates of Vigil’s Keep, attracting stares from Wardens and servants alike. She traveled alone, for starters. On her back was strapped a two-handed sword. Her armor was plain, serviceable, and well-used.

Marian ignored the looks. Attention was something she’d gotten used to years ago, but it was now a means of deflection. No one expected the former Champion of Kirkwall to show up in their town, without pageantry or companions. With her hair bleached an unsightly motley of brown, red, and blonde, she was just another sellsword in a time of upheaval.

If only they knew.

She was stopped at the doors of the Keep proper by a guard. “Halt. What’s your business with the Grey Wardens?”

She shook off her road weariness to straighten her spine. “I’m looking for Nathaniel Howe, if he’s still here.”

The speaker looked to his fellow and jerked his chin. While his partner went out to the fields, he sized up Marian. “That’s a rather large sword for you to be toting around. Are you looking for trouble?”

A faint smile cracked her face. “No, but it has an odd habit of finding me.”

Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned reflexively, taking a step away to protect her back. Nathaniel accompanied the other guard, a quiver of arrows slung across his shoulder and a bow in his hand. A few gray hairs frosted his temple, a few more lines creased the corner of his eyes, but he hadn’t changed much in the intervening three years. He studied her curiously, asking, “May I help you?”

“Hello, Nathaniel,” she said, the smile turning up a fraction from relief…and pleasure to see him, she’d admit to herself. “I was hoping you’d have time to see an old…friend.”

At the smile and sound of her voice, his eyes went wide with shock, but wisely, he bit back whatever words his throat was moving to make. “Aye,” he said, his voice even more hoarse than usual. “Come with me.” He led them into the keep, passing more curious people, some of whom greeted Nathaniel as Warden-Captain, others who nodded respectfully but said nothing, to a room that looked like an office, austere as its user. A ginger cat stood up on the sill of a window and arched its back in a stretch, turned around once, then curled up to fall back to sleep. Nathaniel closed the door behind them with a solid thunk, then paused. “Hawke?”

She winced. “Yes, it’s me, but that’s a name I don’t feel safe using right now.” She smiled crookedly. “I thought you agreed once to call me Marian.”

Nathaniel blushed and put his bow and quiver aside, possibly to buy a moment to recover from the moment of awkwardness. He’d regained his composure by the time he turned around and spread his hands out, palms up. “What are you doing _here_?”

With a gesture of her hand to a chair in front of the desk, she said, “May I?”

He startled and nodded. “Of course.” Unslinging her sword with a sigh and propping it against the wall, she peeled off her gloves and dropped to perch on the edge of the seat, grateful for the respite, while he leaned against the edge of the desk in front of her. Before she could reply, he asked, “Where is Anders?”

She grimaced and looked away. “Dead.”

“Maker, no,” Nathaniel sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” she said, the corners of her mouth crimping. “I killed him.”

He lurched to his feet. “ _What_?”

Tensing, she kept herself in her seat through an act of will and watched him closely. “What did you hear of what happened in Kirkwall?”

“We heard the stories, of someone blowing the Chantry up and how everyone—templars and Circle alike—went mad and began slaughtering one another. And that you and your companions were in the thick of things but escaped.”

“All true, save one.” She felt weariness descend on her and she slumped in her chair. “Anders blew up the Chantry.”

He stared. “Maker’s Breath. _Anders_?” he asked incredulously.

Her mouth twisted in a pained smile. “He blew up the Chantry,” she repeated. “Right there, in front of the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter. And then he threw himself on my judgment and I executed him.”

“ _What_?”

Three years, and the breath still crushed out of her chest and her pulse pounded remembering that moment, her knife going into his chest, the tears on his face as he mouthed, ‘Thank you’ and slipped from her arms. Her throat hurt. “He hid it from you that night.” She swallowed hard, past the lump. “He said you knew Justice.”

“Aye, I did. What—” he cut himself off, and waited.

“Anders allowed him to possess him, years ago.” Nathaniel made a strangled noise of protest, but she went on. “I knew that when I fell in love with him.” Tears prickled her eyes again, and she pinched the bridge of her nose to clear them. “I thought it was different, Justice wasn’t a demon, at least from what he said, he said it was him, his anger, that made it so bad. He fought it for years, and then…he just gave up. Gave in.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with an angry swipe of her hand. “He called him Vengeance, and it drove him to do it. Afterwards…he wanted to die. He knew what he’d done was terrible, and he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of fighting _it_. I killed him,” she said flatly, turning to level a challenging look at Nathaniel, “because I couldn’t watch him suffer anymore, and couldn’t risk that Vengeance would someday do worse.”

Nathaniel’s bark of laughter was brittle. “Worse than blowing up an entire Chantry?”

“Yes. What if it had been the whole Maker bedamned city?”

He sobered and began lifting a hand towards her face, but then let it drop. His question came softly. “Why are you here, now?”

“I want to join the Grey Wardens.”

“No,” came his immediate, emphatic response.

She quirked an eyebrow at him dubiously and corrected him with, “Yes.”

“No,” he repeated. “You really don’t want to do that.”

An exasperated snort escaped her and she straightened in her seat. “Why not?”

“You just don’t.”

Anger threaded through her voice. “Tell me what else I’m supposed to do? My family is dead, my friends are gone, my lover…” She snapped her teeth closed on the rest of that sentence and continued with another. “I have no home and no purpose to my life, but I have a big ass sword and the skill to use it. What better use for it than protecting Thedas from the darkspawn? I’ve already done that, on more than one occasion if you’ll recall.”

She’d said it purposefully, evoking the memory of finding him in the Deep Roads for the _other_ memories attached to it, and she saw from his renewed blush the bolt had hit home. “We don’t take just anyone…”

She snorted again. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

He glared at her. “Especially not a recruit with _political_ ramifications.”

Letting out a gusty breath, she said, “The templars.”

“Yes, the templars.”

She bit her lip. “You defended Anders from being taken by them. Why not me?”

“ _I_ didn’t,” he countered. “That was the Warden-Commander.”

Rising to her feet, she asked, “Should I be talking to her, then?”

He seized her by the upper arms. “Stop, this is foolishness. You don’t know what you’re asking for. You knew Anders, did he never talk about it?”

The name dashed cold water on her ire, and she stilled in his grip. “Yes, he did. He sounded like he wound up hating it. He also blew up the Chantry, so I’m not sure if I exactly trust his opinion anymore.”

Nathaniel flinched at the truth in her tone and sighed. “Touché. Would you listen to me, then?”

The timbre of his voice resonated into Marian’s chest, and she felt her pulse quicken in response. Her eyes met his, and she longed to feel his hands on her arms without the armor intervening. She saw in his expression some realization of her reaction, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply. Her, “Yes,” came out a trifle breathier than she intended.

His hands unwound slowly, as if he was reluctant to release her, but didn’t break his gaze. “Did Anders ever tell you how _I_ came to join the Grey Wardens?”

She shook her head. “No, ah…that never came up.” Now, she blushed, feeling discomfited by the reminder at that moment.

He waved his hand up and outwards. “This used to be my home. After the war, the Queen gave it and the Arling to the Grey Wardens to rebuild the order. I, being young and stupid,” he said with a twisted smirk of self-deprecation, “broke into the Keep with the intent of taking my family’s possessions and killing the Warden-Commander.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Marian said with a wide smile.

He nodded, dropping his face in bemused embarrassment. “I did. I was caught, of course.” The amusement faded, his expression becoming deadly serious as he looked back up to lock eyes with her. “The Warden-Commander had to decide what to do with me, then. She could’ve let me go, but she knew—rightfully, I might add—that if she did, I would’ve just tried it again. She could’ve killed me, and, at the time, I would’ve welcomed it. My father had dishonored our name horribly, my family was dead,” he paused to let that point sink home, and her eyes widened when it did. He nodded in acknowledgement and went on, “And I didn’t feel I would ever be worth anything to anyone again. But she—she was angry, back then. And so she gave me the worst punishment she could think of, and made me a Grey Warden.”

Marian sucked in a quiet breath as he fell silent, watching him. “Why is it so bad?”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. I may have said too much already. We’d never get any recruits at all if that story was to get out.” He crooked his finger and tucked it under her jaw, thumb resting on her chin. “I want to save you from that.”

She longed to drop her head and take his thumb in her mouth with a ferocity that knocked the wind out of her. Instead she held herself in check, trembling from the effort, one she could tell he noticed. “Let me ask you one thing. Do you feel like you have meaning in your life, that you’re doing something worthwhile with the time the Warden-Commander gave you?”

He scowled, dropping his hand away, to her regret. “Aye. Damn you, aye.”

She reached a hand out to cup his cheek, felt his eyes flutter closed briefly as he leaned into her palm and brought a hand up to cover it in return. “I gave Bethany to the Grey Wardens and I think she hates me a little for it. I don’t think it’s fair of me to shy away from the risks, given everything I have to atone for.”

“Is that why you’re doing it?” he asked softly. “For atonement?”

“No. Yes. Maybe,” she said with a sigh. “Mostly, I just want to do something useful with my life, and not just running away trying to save it.”

He pulled her hand away from his cheek but kept a loose hold on it, folding his thumb against the palm and idly stroking it. She wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it. “Why did you come here, instead of going to Markham?”

“Bethany is there. It’s still the Free Marches and therefore too close to Kirkwall.”

His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Is that all?”

“No,” she admitted ruefully, looking down at their conjoined hands. “You were here.”

His breath caught, and she smiled. Shaking himself, he released her hand and inhaled raggedly. “I…the Warden-Commander is going to have to decide this. You’re going to have to tell her the truth. All of it,” he added, his voice taking an edge to it. “The Wardens were thrown out of Ferelden, once, for hundreds of years because the Warden-Commander decided to dabble in politics. We just got our foothold back, she’s going to need to decide if she’s willing to harbor the wanted former Champion of Kirkwall in our midst.”

She grabbed at his wrist, pressing hard on the small bones until he jerked his head up to look at her. “You have to promise me something.”

Eyeing her warily, he asked, “What?”

“If she tries to turn me over to the templars, you have to kill me. Or let me kill myself. I refuse to let them get their hands on me.”

“Marian—” he started.

She shook his arm hard. “Promise me. Do it for Anders. He’d never have wanted to see me in their grasp.”

He blanched. “That’s not fair.”

“Life rarely is,” she snorted, then softened. “I’m just trying to make it a little more fair where I can.”

“Maker, you don’t know what you’re asking…fine. I promise.”

She swooped in and kissed him, leaving both of them a bit breathless as she released his wrist. “Can we do it now, and get it over with?”

#####

Despite having heard the stories about the Hero of Ferelden, it still surprised Marian to see the slender elf behind the desk Nathaniel escorted her to, her pale blonde hair pulled up into a practical bun by incongruously jeweled sticks. When she looked up at the intrusion, it came as a greater surprise that, if Marian had to guess, the Warden-Commander was younger than she was. A faint tattoo swirled down one side of her face, looking nothing like anything Marian had seen in her times at the Dalish camp, suggesting she came from an alienage. A city elf, then. She snapped her mouth shut when she realized she was gawking.

“Kallian,” Nathaniel said with respectful familiarity, “do you have a moment?”

Eyebrows going up, Kallian tossed her quill onto the desk next to the pile of paperwork and leaned back in her seat, lacing her fingers together to steeple before her. “For interrupting me in this, yes, with my gratitude. What’s this?”

“A new recruit,” he said tersely.

A corner of Kallian’s mouth twitched, but her eyes narrowed as she studied Marian, and Marian felt the need to straighten her posture under the weight of the Commander’s scrutiny. The other corner of Kailian’s mouth lifted at the movement, but she then looked to Nathaniel. “Ah. This one is…different.” She pushed herself to her feet and walked around the desk to circle Marian. A prickle of warning went up Marian’s spine, but she held herself still, outside of throwing a nervous look at Nathaniel. His expression conveyed reassurance, but she still considered doing him bodily harm later. If she got out of this. Kallian ended her circuit standing before Marian, asking, “Why?”

Beyond Kallian, Nathaniel gave a surreptitious nod, and Marian answered, “Because my name is Marian Hawke.”

Kallian’s eyebrows shot up, then furrowed downwards when she frowned. “And you want to join the Grey Wardens,” she stated, rather than asked.

“Yes.”

She leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice was hard when she asked, “Are you doing this seeking some sort of asylum?”

“No. Well, the thought did cross my mind,” Marian immediately corrected herself, “I’d be a fool not to think it. But, no, it’s not why I want to do it.”

“Then why?”

 _Tell the truth_ , Nathaniel had said, and so Marian did. “Because if I’m going to die, at this point, I’d like it to have some meaning other than fueling that Maker bedamned war between the templars and the mages.” She hadn’t meant for so much bitterness to spill out, but once said, it could not be unsaid. She set her jaw stubbornly and waited.

To one side, Nathaniel tensed, shifting as if he might go to her but caught himself. Kallian reacted as if she didn’t notice, eyes fixed on Marian. “A death wish, then.” She ghosted a smile. “That I can understand. Have you ever heard of the Legion of the Dead?” When Marian shook her head in the negative, Kallian went on. “They’re a group of dwarves who dedicate what remains of their lives fighting the darkspawn in the Deep Roads. When they join, they get to participate in their own funeral.” Her voice went flat. “The Grey Wardens are not the Legion, Marian Hawke. If you were to join us, it will not be to run to your death at the first opportunity you get. If you want to die, I can arrange that.”

From the look of surprise on Kallian’s face, laughter was not the response she expected. Wiping away tears, Marian said, “My apologies, Warden-Commander. I spent three years at direct odds with the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ll have to do a better job than that.”

Kallian shot Nathaniel a look. He simply grimaced back. “Then tell me why I should risk pitting the Grey Wardens against the templars for the sake of one person.”

“You did it for Anders,” Marian retorted.

Unexpectedly, Kallian sniffed with amusement. “I was young and desperate then.” The levity faded. “And they want you much more than one mage with a penchant for escape.”

“Then do it because I _was_ the Champion of Kirkwall,” Marian said, faint challenge coloring her voice. “I didn’t get to that position through my good looks and charm.”

“There was likely a lot of luck involved,” Kallian observed pointedly.

Marian nodded. “There probably was. But I’m also good at what I do, and I have some experience with darkspawn and the Deep Roads. I doubt a lot of your recruits can say that.”

“Not anymore, no,” Kallian mused. “You’ll enjoy no special treatment here. In fact, the opposite of it. I see no point in drawing attention to the fact that you’re here. I’ll have to let my lieutenants know, but you will be treated like any other recruit seeking a place within the Grey Wardens rather than a headman’s axe. And you’ll likely never advance within the order. If you can accept all that, then you can join.”

“Done,” Marian said, offering out her hand.

Kallian looked at it like it was a snake suddenly rising from the grass, but then took it to shake. “Don’t make me regret my decision, either,” she said with a dry chuckle, then she gave a nod to Nathaniel. “I’ll leave you to handle the details. Let me know when I need to show up and look official.”

Nathaniel released a sigh as the door of the office shut behind him, taking Marian’s elbow in his hand to guide her away. “She hates being in charge sometimes,” he admitted in undertone. “She’s really good at it, but she still thinks of herself as the guttersnipe the last Warden-Commander saved from the alienage.”

“Why are you telling me that?” Marian replied, equally hushed.

His expression twisted. “I don’t know. I guess I just want you to understand her.”

“Did you sleep with her?” His steps picked up, and she glanced at him to catch his blush. Jealousy spiked through her, but she laughed, teasing, “Your commander, even.”

“Don’t,” he warned in a low voice, dragging her back to his office and shutting the door with force.

“I’m sorry,” she began, “I’m in no position to judge.”

“No, you really aren’t,” he agreed. His eyes glittered. “It was a very long time ago…before Anders,” he said, letting out an explosive breath.

“You don’t need to tell me this,” Marian said, putting her hands out.

He looked at her. “Yes, I do.” He closed the distance between them, and looked at her steadily. “It was once. There were rumors she had been involved with Alistair Theirin, the last of that line, the Warden who slew the archdemon. The war of the Blight treated both of us badly. We were young and hurting and we used each other. We got over it. We’re friends now.”

She began to tremble, his scent filling her nose. “Once,” she echoed, tilting her head a fraction as she watched him. “Are we friends?”

“Anders…”

“Is dead,” she finished the sentence bluntly. “And he was a longer time ago for you than me.”

His hand went to her neck lightly, as if she might run away, and when she didn’t, he wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck. Indecision flickered through his expression, then he tore his hand away. “You need to do the Joining,” he said hoarsely, stepping around to put his desk between them. “Ask me again afterwards.”

She heard the emphasis he put to capitalize the word, and frowned. “When?”

“Tonight, midnight. Is there anything you’d like to do before then?”

She exhaled in exasperation. There was, but he was making it very clear in his body language that wasn’t an option. Instead, she asked, “Show me around the Keep? I’d like to see all those places you and Anders spoke about.”

Pain entered his dark eyes, but he nodded with a thin smile. “Of course.”

#####

A sensation other than pain broke into the perfect world of it, something a corner of her mind categorized as a lessening of pain. Slowly, it receded and awareness trickled in. Someone—Nathaniel—was helping her sit up, a hand on her back steadying her. “Maker’s Breath,” she groaned, “do I still have skin, or was it flayed off?”

A basso chuckle rumbled. “Aye, it does that to some people,” a gravelly voice said, and her mind ascribed the name ‘Oghren’ to it, and that he was a dwarf. “Are we done here?”

“You know we’re not,” a female voice she identified as ‘Warden-Commander’ said. Hands assisted her to her feet, and she opened her eyes and immediately squinted, despite knowing the candlelight shouldn’t be hurting as much as it did. Kallian stood before her, taking Marian’s hands between her own. “You survived the Joining. Welcome to the Grey Wardens.”

“Are you sure I survived?” she asked muzzily, withdrawing a hand to put to her fevered temple.

Kallian chuckled. “Yes.” Old pain ghosted through her features. “But you may not thank me for it. You’ll spend the next few weeks absolutely ravenous. Sig—“

“I’ll take care of it,” Nathaniel cut her off.

After a quizzical look, Kallian nodded. “Very well. The rest of you, please welcome our latest sister, Marian, to our ranks.”

Applause followed her out of the hall, guided once more by Nathaniel’s hand at her elbow. “Where are we going?” she asked as they walked through empty hallways.

“Kitchen,” he said. “You’re going to want to eat.”

“Nathaniel, I think how I feel right now, I’m not going to want to ea—“ Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she stopped in her tracks, hands covering her belly. “Maker, how did you know?”

He chuckled drily. “We all went through it once.”

They settled down at the servants table off to the side, Nathaniel collecting food for her with the air of long practice raiding the stores, and then she began to fill her face while he watched with amusement sipping a glass of wine. She belched, earning a wrinkled nose from Nathaniel. “I think I’m done.”

“For now,” he said, swirling the wine around in his glass. The dim light from the lantern he’d brought in glinted off the liquid, reflecting ruby stars. He sighed. “There’s still much to tell you about now.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head and gave her a bleak smile. “I’d prefer it to keep until morning, if you don’t mind. It won’t make a difference between now and then.”

“Alright,” she agreed, and then with a daring thrill that quickened her breathing, she asked, “Should I find you or nudge you?”

His dark eyes seemed to swallow the light, pupils dilated to black. He put the wine glass down with deliberate care. “I’m your commanding officer now.”

“True,” she ceded. “That didn’t stop Aveline and Donnic.”

“Who?”

She shook her head. “Friends of mine. Aveline was the Captain of the Guard, Donnic one of the guardsman. They’re married now, and raising fat, happy babies, last I checked.”

“We won’t be.”

Her pulse leapt in the hollow of her throat. “Why not?”

“Because—dammit,” he swore, standing up. “Not here.”

“Where, then?”

He didn’t reply, just turned on his heel and walked out, forcing her to wipe her mouth hurriedly on a cloth and half-run to catch up. Their footsteps echoed in the empty halls, most of the Wardens having retired to their beds after the completion of the ritual, still too early for the servants to begin rising to prepare the Keep for the day, to a room in the residential wing she hadn’t seen earlier in the day. Opening the door for her, she entered before Nathaniel into a small receiving area. Beyond it, a door led into a bedchamber. A fire crackled on the hearth, and a bottle of wine sat on a small table near the chairs with a glass out.

“Your room?” she guessed, taking it in.

“Yes,” he answered tersely, going over and pouring himself another glass of wine. With a moue of frustration, he offered it to her and, when she accepted, went over to lean a hand against the wall as he stared into fireplace, taking a drink straight from the bottle.

She bit back the observation that he reminded her, for a moment, of Fenris, saying gently instead, “Why not?”

“Better that you ask your earlier question first,” he growled.

She blinked with confusion, then again in remembrance. “Are we friends?”

Not looking away from the flames, he answered, “I don’t know.”

Joining him at the fireplace, she took a sip of her wine with an unsteady hand, then gave up on it and placed it on the mantle. “Why not?”

His hand pressed on the wall clenched into a fist. “I barely know you,” he said, tearing his attention from the fire. “A few days in the Deep Roads. A night—“ He stopped, and let out a shaky exhale. “Then you show up on my doorstep, years later.”

“But…?” she trailed off, taking a step towards him.

His laugh wheezed out. “But, what?” He went on, answering his own question. “I can’t forget that night. It was just one bloody night, but I feel like it was much more than that.”

She closed the distance until she was standing right in front of him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to reach out and touch him, as she did then, a hand closing around his waist. His eyes closed momentarily, and he put the bottle of wine up on the mantle to join the glass. When he pulled his hand away from it, he dropped it to her shoulders, caressing it through her shirt. “I’m not looking for marriage or fat babies,” she said, pressing her fingers against his flesh one at a time, in a quiet rhythm, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good,” he breathed out. “But I’m still your commanding officer.”

“You may have noticed,” she said, with a small smirk tugging up the corners of her mouth, “I sometimes have issues with authority.”

He put pressure on her shoulder, pulling her close and her lips parted at the pleasant shock of finding herself against his body. His hand drifted up from her shoulders to her neck, fingertips stirring the hair at the nape of her neck to send a cascade of chills down her spine and a strong lean into him. He chuckled, a rich sound that seemed to well up from deep inside him. “I’ve noticed. So you probably wouldn’t leave if I ordered you away.”

“Not in this lifetime, Howe,” she muttered, before meeting his mouth in a kiss, a kiss the bottom fell out of when he whimpered, his tongue questing out to find hers as they locked together. He kissed her like a starving man, an urgency she matched in full measure, her body reminding her in its feverish response how long it had been since she’d been with someone, anyone, and how much she wanted him. Her back bowed as pressed her down, holding her up with an arm wrapped around her waist as she clung to him, enjoying the feel of her hips arching against the hard knot between his thighs.

He pulled out of the kiss, breathing hard, his dark eyes drinking in the details of her face avidly. “Are you sure?”

In answer, she re-claimed his mouth and felt his feeble resistance melt away. His other arm joined the first around her waist and her feet left the floor, turned towards the bed. With laughing grin at his audacity, she lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. He groaned, his hands curving down to cup her ass for support as he carried her towards the bedroom, pausing in the doorframe to hold her up against it, grinding into her in his urgency, while she tilted her head back, gulping for air, eyes closed to better savor the sensation of his mouth ravaging a path down her neck.

“Will you take me here, or are we going to make it to the bed?” she teased breathily, words punctuated by tiny sounds of encouragement.

He lifted his head to look at her and deliberately rubbed himself against the cleft of her legs, eliciting a grunting sigh from her. “Would you like me to take you here?” he asked, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

She buried her hands in his long, fine hair, making him lean back into her touch as she raked her fingers through it, then quirked a smile. “I’d like you to just take me.”

His smile broke free, and he resumed kissing her, peeling off the threshold to finish the trip to the bed, tipping both of them onto it so he fell atop her. The wind whooshed out of her lungs, but the sudden weight of him on her made her moan, hips tilting up hard where she still encircled him and he shuddered in her grasp. With an effort, he planted his hands against the mattress and levered himself up, breaking himself away from her, but only so he could grab the hem of her tunic, attempting to undress her. She sat up and skimmed it off herself, having to withstand his hands finding the bare skin of her belly and torso and caressing her sides from waist to arms, having the decency, at least, to wait until the shirt was off before covering her breasts, adjusting so his thumbs could sweep across the nipples, making them instantly hard and causing her to gasp with a sudden dampness between her legs.

In retaliation, she reached towards his waist, not for his shirt but for the fastenings of his trews, willing steadiness into her hands as she fumbled with the knots in order to _hurry_ , already, spurred on by his ragged breath and the bulge distorting the fabric. Knots undone, she yanked on the waistband, loosening them swiftly, and ran her hands down his hips, the pants falling away at her touch to bunch around his calves. The grin she gave him was impish, his only warning before she took his shaft in her hands and stroked it, his turn to gasp and jerk towards her, a hand coming down to catch himself before he felt atop her once more.

“Wench,” he murmured, the fall having brought his face near hers again, and he kissed her so thoroughly, she became lightheaded. Her hands continued to touch him and he was moving into it, soft moans sounding against her mouth. Trembling, he left off palming her breast to find her own pants, tugging on them ineffectually since she was still seated, but it was enough of a hint that she ceased feeling him up and broke off kissing him to lean back on the bed, undoing her own laces and wriggling the pants down her legs. He grabbed a cuff and pulled, the trews slithering off and away, tossed them negligibly aside, and was on her a moment later.

The fabric of his shirt rasped against her skin, but in a good way, the coarse weave a delicious friction across her sensitized nipples. The back of his hand touched her inner thigh, and she opened to him, gladly, willingly, hips already rocking in anticipation. The sudden feel of the head of his manhood rubbing against her cleft made her whimper, and then it was moving faster, from hard nub to well, teasing her, until she shifted, begging through the motion for the penetration he finally gave her.

She cried out, hips thrusting upwards to slam herself more fully around him, rewarded by his matching, throaty cry at the union. Her back arched, pulling off of him, then forward, sheathing him deeply. Again and again, he filled her, and the pressure grew, swelled, until he burst, groaning in a stuttery, ragged sound that pushed her to the brink. The release came in a jagged shudder of ecstasy, fingertips digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, her heels dug into the mattress, a scream muffled by her clenched teeth.

He collapsed heavily on her, bearing her down, panting breaths hot on her skin as he dropped his head down near the crook of her shoulder. His long hair slithered down to fan out across her neck, her collarbone, a fine susurrus of sensation. She was more aware of him still being inside her, the feeling of fullness before his erection subsided, how _right_ it felt, and the contented lassitude sweeping over her. She lifted her knee a fraction to press against his hip, cradling him between her thighs, and he stirred, lifting his head to look at her and a hand to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. There was question in his dark eyes, concern, and she had to smile for it, the need for reassurance.

She brushed her lips against his in the barest of kisses. “I have a confession to make,” she said in a low voice barely above a whisper, adding a smile to allay greater concern.

Fulfillment dropped his voice an octave, and it rumbled through his chest into hers pleasantly, good-humored curiosity on his face. “What’s that?”

“Back then, in Kirkwall,” she didn’t have to say ‘with Anders’, but from the way his eyebrows went up, he’d added it in anyway, “I wanted you that night.”

He blinked. “You did?”

Dipping her chin, she brought her hand up to run along his temple, tucking a thick strand of hair behind his ear and letting her fingertips linger along the shell, making him shiver. “At first, it was only because of Anders. And because I was drunk,” she added, smile turning rueful, then pensive as she went on. “But when I saw you naked, that first time…I was jealous of Anders.”

Wonder entered his expression. “Just from being naked.”

Softly, she laughed. “Not just. But it was that moment that made me want you. Fully, like this.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, their noses bumping. He exhaled in a sigh. “I hated you, a little bit, that night. You had Anders, and I didn’t. But when you were on your knees, my cock in your mouth—“

She interrupted with another laugh, teasing, “Is it always that way for men?”

A crooked smile turned up his mouth. “Yes, actually, it is. Will you let me finish?”

“Aye,” she said, using his own word.

The smile soured, and she knew he’d recognized the tease. It faded. “You hadn’t needed to do that, but you were. A stranger. Let’s be honest: a rival.” His fingers uncurled, tips falling feather light across the line of her cheekbone. “I didn’t want you to stop, even if it had meant not being with him.”

Another gibe bubbled up her throat, but it died, unsaid, when she saw the seriousness in his eyes. Instead, she kissed him, a slow, profound thing that made up in intensity what it lacked in passion, still spent from their sex. She stretched under him, shifting to find a more comfortable position now that the fact that she was being squished was becoming apparent, he took the hint and withdrew from her, much to her chagrin. Reaching out, she found his hand, taking it in hers, and asked, “Should I return to my room?”

He laced his fingers in hers, effectively trapping her in that simple touch, and although he didn’t smile, his eyes twinkled. “How will you nudge me if you do?”

#####

Marian stirred when she heard the cock crow out in the courtyard and felt a heavy hand come to rest on the small of her back, fingers splaying out wide. She smiled into the pillow at the possessiveness indicated by the gesture, and turned her head to look at Nathaniel, who was blinking back at her sleepily. At seeing her, a slow smile crept onto his face, and he leaned forward to kiss her lightly.

“You know,” she said in a hushed voice, “you never did answer my question.”

Confusion wrinkled his brow. “What question?”

“Are we friends?”

With a soft growl, his arm hitched around her waist, dragging her into him. She felt the evidence of his arousal against her hip. “No,” he said with a smirk, his hand straying down to stroke the curve of her backside, fingers curling against her inner thigh. “Not yet at least. I need to get to know you better.”

Her laughter broke in the morning air, until he silenced it in the most effective way possible.


End file.
